Maggie scoffed at her silliness. What difference did it make if she believed or not; you were either reborn or you weren’t. No amount of wishful thinking could make it – or not make it – so. She put the book down and stood up to stretch, the gurgling noises in her stomach told her that it was time for food. Tonight, Maggie did not plan on suffering through another tin of condensed soup and black tea. While she was out she had managed to find a corner store that had sold everything from fresh fruit and vegetables, to cold cuts. The shopkeeper, who was also the owner of the butcher’s shop next door, had obviously felt she was in need of a good feed because he offered to sell her some sausages and lamb chops as well, despite the butcher’s shop being closed on Sundays.
With the sink full of water, Maggie peeled off some lettuce leaves, tossed in a cucumber and two tomatoes. Next, she opened a tin of beetroot and sliced some cheese on to a plate. Tonight, she would eat well. Lamb chops and mint sauce accompanied with a tossed salad, a glass of cold cordial and a Violet Crumble bar for dessert. She flung a couple of loin chops into the frying pan and was about to throw another couple in when she remembered she was only cooking for one. “Silly me,” she said to her reflection in the kitchen window, and smiled.
It was a sure sign she was on the mend. A short time ago, the mere thought of accidentally cooking for Peter would have been sufficient to reduce her to tears.
Chapter 57
Monday, 16 December 1968
The blinding light shone in through the window, informing Peter that he had slept in. The clock concurred; it was almost ten thirty. “Shit,” he jumped up and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. “Shit,” he said again when he remembered what a mess his life was at that moment. For a split second he had forgotten about the situation he was in and was merely reacting to the late hour. Today, however, the late hour was not a major problem. He didn’t have to go to work, and there was no one home but himself. Unless Stephen had returned that is. He had bought Peter’s car back last night while Peter was dozing in front of the television, but he must have gone straight back out again because he was not in the house when Peter woke up.
Peter emptied his bladder before walking down and peeking in Stephen’s room. The room was empty. Peter decided he would make himself breakfast before ringing Mark’s place to see if he was there. He put the kettle on and filled the sink with hot, soapy water. If he didn’t wash the dishes soon, they’d walk away on their own. He dumped the pile of plates into the water, splashing a mound of bubbles onto the linoleum in the process. He didn’t bother to clean up the spill. Instead, he made himself a cup of strong coffee and sat on the back veranda sipping it.
The day was going to be another scorcher, he could tell. Already it was too hot to be outside without a shirt on. It was just bearable sitting in the shade where he was. He lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. All around him, life went on as usual. Elvis barked loudly next door, the Stefanadis’ toiled away in their vegetable garden, and cars sped by on the road out front, yet for Peter, it was almost as though the world had stopped turning. For someone that was always busy, he suddenly had more time on his hands than he knew what to do with.
He studied a row of ants walking along the footpath carrying crumbs of bread twice their size. He had dropped a stale crust on his way to the bin that morning, preferring to leave it for the ants than to pick it up. He watched as the tiny creatures carted away the evidence of his laziness and considered what to do with the rest of his day. The phone rang. No doubt it would be Stephen, he thought, as he got up to answer it.
He was wrong; it was the car yard ringing to let him know that his car would be ready for pickup tomorrow morning. For someone that had been so excited by the prospect of a new car a week ago, he was remarkably unperturbed by the news. He also had the added complication of having to pick the car up with no one around to assist. The car yard was in Parramatta and he needed someone to either drop him there or ride with him and bring his old car back. Maggie had said that she would do it, but now she couldn’t and he doubted Stephen would be around to help, which only left Roger.
In his current state, Peter didn’t really feel like speaking to Roger, but he knew that he had no other options, so he reluctantly dialled his brother’s number. Mary answered the phone with her usual degree of cheerfulness. Obviously, whatever sins Roger had committed the last time they had been to visit had already been forgiven. Peter sighed. If only Maggie were as forgiving as Mary. No, he immediately reassured himself, he didn’t really mean that, in fact it was unfair of him to think so. Maggie was far more challenging and less accepting than Mary, it was true, but Peter knew that he wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Except maybe just this once, he thought.
He put on his most pleasant voice and explained the purpose of his call to his sister-in-law. Mary assured him that Roger didn’t have to start until later in the day, as he was working the afternoon shift all week, and yes, he would love to help. By the way, was Maggie home, she asked, she had lost her recipe for plum pudding and was hoping Maggie had one.
Peter considered telling Mary that Maggie had gone shopping, but he didn’t want to lie to her, so he told her the truth. “Maggie’s at the cottage already. She left early, so I can’t ask her for you, sorry.”
Then, much to Peter’s surprise, and eternal gratitude, Mary simply said, “Oh, I see. Never mind then, I’ll give Dolores a ring, I’m sure she’ll have one.”
Peter didn’t know who Dolores was, and he didn’t ask. Instead, he thanked Mary for her time and hung up the phone. His cigarette had burned down while he was on the phone. The long tube of ash that had curled up at the end threatened to fall. Peter cupped one hand under the cigarette and went back outside to finish his coffee. He closed his eyes and thought about what to do next. Now that he knew when his car was arriving, he could make plans to meet Maggie at the cottage. He had spoken to Mr Kildey yesterday afternoon, who confirmed that Maggie had arrived safely, but Peter hadn’t bothered to leave a message for her, there was no point. But now there was. He would ring and tell Mr Kildey to let Maggie know that he and Stephen would be arriving tomorrow afternoon. That would give him plenty of time to collect his car, load it up with some stuff for the trip, and arrive at Martinsville while it was still light.
Somewhat buoyed by his new plans, Peter went inside to call Mr Kildey. He had no sooner made his call and sat back down, when he heard a car pull up out front. It was Mark. He appeared to be waiting for Stephen to get something from inside, because he left the engine running while Stephen raced into the house. Not wanting to miss him for the second time, Peter stubbed out his freshly lit cigarette and hurried inside. He could hear Stephen in his bedroom and approached his open door with a degree of trepidation. “Where are you off to,” he enquired.
“Out.”
“Out where?” Peter tried again.
“Dunno yet, anywhere but here.”
Peter was in no mood for insolence. He was hoping to get an opportunity to speak with Stephen, and see if he could patch things up before their trip tomorrow. “Look, no matter what you might think about me right now I’m still your father and I still expect some respect. I don’t mind if you go to Mark’s place, but I expect you to let me know where you are and what you are doing.”
Stephen went to speak, but Peter silenced him by raising his hand. “And, maybe not right way, but sometime soon, we need to talk. It’s just not right the way things are.”
Stephen glared at his father. “There’s nothing to talk about. We’re through.”
“There’s no need to be like that,” Peter advised.
“Yes there is, and I’m going out and you can’t stop me. I’m eighteen and I’ll bloody well do as I please.”
“Well, that’s a mature approach for an eighteen year old, I must say.” As soon as his words were out, Peter regretted them. If he kept reacting to Stephen’s moods, nothing would improve between them. He tried a different tact. “Hav
e you seen Jane lately?” he asked.
Stephen answered with a question of his own. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing I suppose, I just wanted to see how things were going, that’s all. Believe it or not, I care about you.”
Stephen gave his father a look of disbelief. “What would you care if I saw her or not, she’s not your girlfriend, she’s mine.”
Peter returned his son’s look with one of compassion. As far as he was concerned, Stephen couldn’t have given a worse response. Based on what he had said, Jane was still in the picture, and that could only be bad for Stephen. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said with much less hostility. “I know you don’t want to believe the things that I said the other day, and I’m truly sorry for the cruel way that I said them, but, I gotta tell you son, they were all true.”
“You believe what you want to believe,” the fire in his son’s eyes flared up, “and let me worry about what I believe, okay?”
So that was the sum of it then, Peter thought sadly. Stephen had opted to believe only what suited him, and nothing Peter had said had fit that category. In a way, he didn’t really blame him, but he did feel sorry for him. He had so desperately wanted to save him from the pain that Jane was bound to inflict, but, as Stephen had pointed out, he was no longer a child. Peter had known the time would come when he would have to let Stephen make his own decisions; he was just devastated that his first attempt at doing so was bound to end in disaster.
“My car arrives tomorrow,” Peter continued, “I was hoping to join your mother at the cottage afterwards. Can you please make sure you’re home by lunch time, so that we can get away at a reasonable hour?”
“I’m not coming,” Stephen advised, “I’m staying here.”
“What,” said Peter, unable to hide the shock in his voice, “what do you mean, you’re not coming?”
Stephen looked uncomfortable. When he spoke, his voice was almost unrecognisable, the anger made him sound older somehow. “I’m staying home. Maybe I’ll catch up in a few days or so, maybe I won’t. Besides, Mum won’t care; it’ll give you plenty of time to grovel. Who knows, she might even be dumb enough to let you off the hook without scratching your eyes out for what you did.”
While Peter had to agree that a couple of days alone with Maggie was just what he needed, he was too concerned about what his son wasn’t telling him to think about the benefits of his proposal. “Don’t pretend that you’re staying home just so your mother and I can be alone,” Peter challenged, “I didn’t come down in the last shower you know.”
Peter knew what his son’s response was going to be before he said it. “I never said that was the only reason,” said Stephen, confirming Peter’s worst fear.
“It’s because of her isn’t it?” Peter demanded.
Stephen shrugged. “Yeah, so? She asked me to go to a Christmas party that she and her uni friends are throwing and I said I would. Got a problem with that?”
“And where does that leave our holiday at the cottage?” Peter asked.
“I assumed we wouldn’t be going to the cottage after you stuffed things up so badly with Mum.”
Peter flinched. When it was all said and done, that’s exactly what he had done; he had stuffed things up with Maggie. But, hearing Stephen say it so candidly was like a slap in the face. He tried not to think about his own discomfort. Instead he focused on what Stephen was telling him. After everything that Peter had told him about Jane, he was still planning on pursuing his relationship with her. Peter’s initial response was to tell Stephen to wake up to himself and insist that he come to the cottage, but he had to ask what good that would do. His son was angry enough with him already. Stopping him from being with his girlfriend, no matter how much Peter disagreed with him on the matter, was bound to make matters worse. Besides, Peter had already told Stephen everything he could to enable him to make a choice. It was now up to Stephen to make it.
Unfortunately, thought Peter, it appeared as though he already had.
Chapter 58
Friday, 4 January 1980
“Jenny! Hold it still.” Dad was trying to get the centre pole to stay in place without the whole tent falling over. Tom and I stood at the front of the tent holding a corner each and Kate and Tracy held the poles at the back. I was too busy talking to Tom to pay much attention to what was happening and without realising it, the corner of the tent that I was supposed to be supporting had sagged towards the middle. I had to brace myself with my feet apart so that I could pull the pole back up and straighten the whole thing out without falling in on top of it.
“That’s it, if everyone can hold it still for a sec; I’ll come and hammer the pegs in.” Dad said it looked like I was about to burst a blood vessel, so he came and did my corner first. It was a relief to have the weight of the tent off my shoulder. Next he hammered Tom’s corner in before relieving Tracy and Kate from their posts.
“There you go.” Dad stood back with his hands on his hips, admiring his handiwork. Big enough to sleep all of us, the tent filled a large part of the back yard. The front half was made from fly screen and the back half from canvas. I got Dad to set it up with the doorway facing the back fence so that no one would be able to see us sneak out to play spotlight in the middle of the night. Plus, I didn’t want anyone being able to look into the tent from the back door. Not that I told Dad that was the reason. I just said I wanted the sunroom at the back where it would be in the shade of the big Gum tree that grew behind our fence. The only problem was the ground was covered in gumnuts and I had to rake them all up before the tent went down so they wouldn’t make holes in the floor.
“Dad, can I sleep in it too?” Brian looked across to where I stood and gave me a smug look. I’d already warned him that if he asked one more time if he could sleep in the tent I’d punch his face in. Obviously he knew that he was safe with Dad around.
I butted in before Dad could answer. “No you can’t. You’re too little. Besides, there’s not enough room.”
“Daaad,” he whined, “Jenny said if I asked to sleep in the tent she’d punch my face in.”
What a dobber. The little creep was going to cop it when Dad wasn’t around. “I did not.” I looked at Dad as innocently as I could manage.
Dad ignored Brian’s latest complaint. “I don’t think so mate. Maybe when you’re older you can have a sleepover and invite your friends.”
I gave Brian a satisfied smirk. “That means he’ll be sleeping on his own.”
“Jenny,” Dad warned, “don’t push it.”
Brian stomped off with the shits.
“Let’s go get the stuff,” Tom suggested.
We carried our sleeping bags and pillows out and set them up in the middle of the room. Chrissy and Raelene were going to sleep next to me, and Ed and Trevor were planning to sleep on Tom’s side. Dad let us borrow his gas lantern, but said he would come and turn it on himself when it got dark. He didn’t want us playing with fire. Tom and me talked about the best way to get the Ouija board into the tent and decided that the less fuss we made the better, so we put it on the bottom of the pile with the games and carried it straight past Mum and Dad and into the tent. Neither of them batted an eyelid.
We dumped the games in the back room and zipped up the door. We didn’t want Brian sneaking around in there going through our stuff. I got the broom out of the laundry and swept the floor of the sunroom. Dad put the folding chairs around the room and set his card table up in the middle with the lantern on top. He dragged his record player into the tent and put it on the table next to the lantern. “Be careful you don’t trip over the cord,” he warned. “Oh, and make sure you don’t spill anything on it. I don’t want any fried kids. If it even looks like rain, I’m taking it back in, okay?”
We waited for Dad to leave us alone before going into the back room and zipping up the door. We plonked ourselves down on our sleeping bags and lay back with our hands behind our heads. “When do you think the best time
is to have the séance?” I asked Tom.
“When it’s really late and everyone’s asleep. We don’t want anyone barging in on us; it might ruin the whole thing.”
I couldn’t wait. If what Clare had said was right, then Shortie would be in Summerland, not Heaven. If you ask me, I reckon Summerland sounds like a much better place, so I’m glad he’s there instead. I never got the chance to ask Clare about it on Christmas day because there were too many people around, but I still have all the questions written in my diary for the next time I see her. I had a look through the books I got from the library, but they didn’t really tell us how to do a séance. The Ghost story book is not even spooky, but at least it talks about some of the things ghosts do. Some of them are friendly, but lots of them aren’t. As for Uncle Gustav’s Ghosts, I’m not finished with that yet, but so far, I do know that ghosts can move fast and that they can’t get knocked up.
In the end, we decided we’d just do what it says in the Ouija board instructions and see what happens. I hope it works. It’s been hard not having Shortie around. We were so used to him being with us all the time and being a part of everything. I really miss him. I try not to think about it too much, but I can’t help it. I still think it’s my fault he got bashed up and I feel really bad that I never even got to say sorry, or goodbye. I haven’t heard anything more about the Dumbrells either. No one knows where they moved to or what happened to Dean and Duncan.
I hope they’re in that boys home by now.
I’ve come close to telling Tom what they did to me a couple of times, but I never go through with it in the end. It’s too embarrassing to talk about, even to Tom. Besides, he might not like me anymore if he knows. That would be worse than anything the Dumbrells could do to me.
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